


A Quiet Evening

by Lion_owl



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: (none jealousy here though), Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Other, Talking About Marriage, The Doctor's POV, They/Them pronouns for the Doctor, cuddling by the fire, mostly just gushing about how in love they are, reference to Twice Upon A Time, references to past Cameca/First Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26451355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lion_owl/pseuds/Lion_owl
Summary: On a cold winter night, Alistair makes hot chocolate, and sitting close together in front of the fireplace under half a dozen blankets, the Doctor tells a story…
Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who)/Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, Third Doctor/Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	A Quiet Evening

The Doctor and Brigadier are settled comfortably on the sofa after dinner, each reading their own book, quietly enjoying each other’s company as they unwind after a very long day at UNIT, fending off yet another attempted invasion of Earth.

Despite being unhappy about being confined to one planet and one time, the Doctor must admit they are profoundly happy being right here, right now: in this room, by the side of the man they have come to love very dearly.

This is Alistair’s house, but it has become Alistair and the Doctor’s home, a fact they continue to find both surprising, and utterly exhilarating; to know that they have a place, _here_. Have they mentioned that they love him?

Even early on, before it could actually be called _love_ , Jamie had spotted the Doctor’s affections a mile off and been absolutely convinced that Lethbridge-Stewart had returned them. Zoe had backed him up, and later, Liz had come to her own conclusion on the matter. They hadn’t believed a word of it, hadn’t dared hope – until Alistair had said it himself, and then the Doctor had felt rather dizzy with joy.

Outside, the sounds of the wind rustling through the trees and the rain battering against the glass can be heard, even through the thick curtains which currently conceal the window.

The Doctor feels a slight shiver.

Alistair looks up from his book. “It’s a cold evening,” he remarks.

“Indeed.” Letting their book fall closed onto the sofa cushion, the Doctor indicates towards the fire burning brightly in the fireplace. “I’m of a mind to sit on the floor.”

Alistair considers the idea for a moment, then nods. “I might join you.” He marks his page, placing the book carefully on the table beside him. “I think perhaps a hot drink is also in order.”

The Doctor agrees that that would be splendid, and sets about gathering some blankets while Alistair tends to the drinks. When he gets back from the kitchen, they are sitting already on the hearth rug, legs stretched out before them, right arm at a forty-degree angle, propping themself up on their hand.

Alistair places the two steaming mugs he is carrying, on the tiles of the hearth, and sits down, cross-legged, in front of their arm, the left side of his torso and legs pressed tightly against the Doctor’s right side. Once they’ve both managed to organise the blankets around both of their shoulders, he reaches for the mugs again, passing one to the Doctor’s free hand.

“Much better,” Alistair says, leaning his head on their shoulder. “Such dreary weather.”

“It _is_ January,” the Doctor says simply, taking a sip of their drink. “Hot chocolate?”

“I fancied a change,” he explains. “And Benton had a jar going spare.”

“Understandable,” they say. The change is certainly appreciated. They haven’t had hot chocolate in quite a long time. In fact, if they’re recalling correctly, not since – oh.

A number of thoughts cross their mind. Unbidden, a chuckle or several escapes them.

“What’s amusing?” Alistair asks.

“Have I ever told you about the time I got engaged, completely by accident?”

“No, you haven’t,” he says. They can’t see his face, but they can _feel_ the moment he raises an eyebrow. “And just how on Earth does that happen _accidentally_?”

“Incidentally, it _was_ on Earth. Oh, it was a long time ago. Around five centuries, I should think.”

“Five centuries,” he repeats, amused by the notion.

“You still haven’t yet quite accepted that I can travel in time, have you?”

“I’ll accept it when I see it for myself.”

The Doctor lets out another soft chuckle. “Sooner rather than later, I hope. In the meantime, you’ll have to make do with these fantastical stories of mine.”

“I enjoy listening to you tell them, if nothing else,” Alistair says, before taking another sip. “Go on,” he says mirthfully. “I’m dying to hear this one.”

“Right,” the Doctor says, and begins the tale: “we materialised in the late fifteenth century, in the centre of an Aztec city. We weren’t planning to stay, but Barbara walked through a door, the rest of us followed, and then we discovered that it only opened from one side, and we were separated from the TARDIS. It took several days to get back to it.”

“Always a good start.”

“In those days that kind of thing – losing access to the TARDIS – seemed to happen a _lot_ , and I was rarely one for staying around anywhere for any length of time, if it didn’t. While we were there, I was introduced to this woman, Cameca. She was remarkable. Very intelligent and knowledgeable, and beautiful too. I found myself rather taken with her. As she was with me, it turned out. There I was one day, examining a wall carving, when she approached me, carrying a pot of cocoa beans and spilt them on the bench in front of me.”

They pause to take a drink, and Alistair hums in acknowledgement of the mention of cocoa. “That’s why you were reminded of this just now,” he reasons.

“Precisely,” the Doctor continues. “At the time I assumed she hadn’t meant to spill them, but I realised later she had probably intended to draw my attention to them. As I helped her gather them up, she asked if I knew their customs regarding cocoa beans. ‘Of course,’ says I, woefully unaware of just which particular custom she had in mind. And off I ran to prepare the beans for drinking.”

“Ah,” Alistair says, chuckling. “I see where this is going. By making this drink for her, you had proposed to her.”

“Exactly. It wasn’t until we were actually sitting there drinking it that I discovered my faux pas.”

Alistair continues to chuckle, soft vibrations crossing the line where their bodies are touching.

“I’m glad you find it funny,” the Doctor says. “Ian thought it was hilarious. Perhaps you and he would get along.”

“I’m sorry,” Alistair says, sounding entirely unapologetic even as his laughter subsides. “If you _will_ make assumptions, though.”

“I like to think I learnt from the incident,” they say. “I felt awful when I realised what I’d done, knowing that I was going to have to let her down. I wholeheartedly enjoyed her company, but I never meant to be there and I never intended to stay. Maybe in a different life, but…” they trail off, suddenly feeling mildly awkward, even though they sense no such feeling from Alistair.

“How did it end?” he asks.

“Oh, she realised before I could say anything. Like I said, very intelligent. She helped us get back to the ship. Asked only that I think of her once in a while. And I do, but I don’t regret not staying. I have no doubt she got over me.”

“I’m sure she did,” Alistair says, just a spot too quickly for the Doctor’s liking, “if you only knew each other for a few days. Well–” he cuts himself off abruptly.

“Well what?” they ask, their pulse rate increasing ever so slightly. The thought of Alistair finding them easy to get over… would fill them with dread. Although, he _did_ specify a few days, and they’ve known each other longer now…

“Well, except you _did_ make _quite_ the impression on me in such a short time, when we first met. So I couldn’t blame her if she didn’t.”

“As did you, on me,” they say, putting down their mug, to rub the back of their neck. “And here we are, sharing hot chocolate for the first time. It’s neither your custom nor mine, but it did amuse me for related reasons.”

“Do you mean to suggest we could be engaged now?” He asks. It’s only half a question.

“My dearest Alistair,” the Doctor says. “If I were to become engaged to _you_ , it would be quite deliberate, I assure you.”

Alistair blinks.

“I –” a beat. “I most certainly wouldn’t object, my dearest Doctor.” He looks down at his almost empty mug, tapping a finger against the side of it. And then, quieter: “If only that were actually possible.” 

They lapse into silence, then, both contemplating the direction the conversation has taken. It hadn’t been the Doctor’s intention to lead it here, but now they can see that it was unlikely _not_ to. It isn’t the first time the Doctor has considered the idea of them formalising their commitment to each other, and they very much suspect it isn’t the first time Alistair has, either. It is, however, the first time either has broached it aloud.

“It isn’t _im_ possible,” they admit eventually. “There are other planets in the universe. Earth is listed in the Intergalactic Registry. If we were married in an active member jurisdiction it wouldn’t be recognised here until Earth becomes a member in the year twenty-seven-fifteen, but it would be valid by various galactic and intergalactic laws,” they explain.

Alistair doesn’t speak for a moment, and certain doubts begin to creep in.

“I know, I know it isn’t the same as being able to marry on your own planet, and it hurts that _we_ can’t, on either of our home planets, and at any rate, you probably think I’m just spouting nonsense, but I –”

“Doctor,” Alistair says, soft but firm, gently cutting off their rambling.

He tilts his head back, still on the Doctor’s shoulder, until they’re making eye contact. And he’s _smiling_ ; _t_ _hat_ smile which, when directed at them, never fails to make their hearts swoop and cheer. “Doctor,” he says again. “I like the idea of being your husband, wherever in the universe it may be true.”

The Doctor grins. “I can’t _begin_ to express how happy that makes me, Alistair.”

They dip their head for a moment, their lips brushing softly against his. He lifts his head up from their shoulder and twists towards them, providing a better angle, and he kisses them again. And again. And any nervous energy which may have built, seeps away immediately. Once they part, they’re both grinning like absolute fools, the Doctor is sure of it. They don’t care.

“Once you get the TARDIS working again, we can keep it in mind,” Alistair says.

The Doctor nods in agreement. “I must thank Benton for that jar of cocoa powder,” they say.

Speaking of: they’ve both finished their drinks, so the Doctor picks up the empty mugs from where they’ve been discarded, and gets up to take them into the kitchen.

They return to find Alistair having spread a couple of blankets out over the rug, and now collecting cushions from the sofa. Piling them at one end of the blankets, he lies down on his side, head on the cushions, legs straightened.

“It’s really very warm and cosy down here,” he says, matter-of-factly, by way of both explanation, and prompting the Doctor to realise they are still standing in the middle of the living room, having got caught up just watching him rearrange the space.

They go over and lie down beside him, on their side too so they are face to face. With both of their lower arms – the Doctor’s left and Alistair’s right – resting against the floor, and bent at the elbows, they join hands in between their chests, entwining their fingers together.

Once the remaining blankets are sorted out and fully covering them both again, Alistair drapes his currently-upper arm across the Doctor’s waist.

Their back warmed by the fire, the Doctor watches the shadows of the low-lit room flickering softly with the flames which illuminate Alistair’s face. The Doctor is struck, as they often are, in private moments such as this one, by how _handsome_ Alistair is. That, and the amount of _love_ shining out of his eyes. Love felt towards them, of all people.

Everybody’s important to somebody, somewhere – someone told them that once, but both who and why is obscured from their memory – which of course means that the Doctor isn’t uniquely lucky to be important to Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. And yet, that’s exactly how they feel: like the luckiest person in all of Time and Space.

With their free hand, they reach up to his face, caressing his cheek. He turns just enough to press a kiss to the inside of the Doctor’s palm, sending a delightful tingle through their entire body.

Yes, very lucky indeed.

They let their arm go slack and slide down to rest across Alistair’s shoulder, and close their eyes.

In an hour or so, when the fire has died down to no more than glowing embers, they’ll likely go to bed proper. But right now, they are both deeply content exactly where they are: wrapped cosily in blankets; each other’s arms; their mutual love; the promise of a future; and the warmth of the hearth.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed it please, please let me know in the kudos/comments! 
> 
> So I wanted to keep it really brief in this fic, but if you're wondering/have questions about the intergalactic registry thing and/or my ideas about the Doctor and Brigadier getting married – you might be interested to know I'm working on (an)other fic(s) where I cover it in more detail!
> 
> Bonus points to whoever spotted the teensy tiniest ever phantom of the opera reference. It’s ridiculously blink-and-you’ll-miss-it, but I couldn’t resist throwing it in there anyway :D


End file.
